Show Me How Love Feels
by Melissa Alexander
Summary: Jonsa Smut Week 2017 Day Three: First Time - With Jon's true parentage revealed after bending the knee to the Dragon Queen, the North is thrown into chaos, with the dead still marching for them all. The North needs a Northern Queen, and the realm needs an heir -and so Sansa proposes a solution to appease all, and keep them united against the Long Night - Jonsa Canon Divergence


**Show Me How Love Feels**

 **Jonsa Smut Week 2017**

 **Day 3:** Anywhere but the bedroom or **First Time**

I want to know what love is,

 _I want you to show me._

 _I want to feel what love is_ ,

I know you can show me.

* * *

Sansa _thought_ she knew what to expect, as the Bedding Ceremony began and she was hoisted up from her chair and into the air. Sure, she _knew_ what was supposed to happen, had been witness to it once, even -but one did not truly _know_ , until they were being carried through a sea of groping hands -faces both strange and familiar passing by in a blur.

It did not seem proper -she was their Queen now after all, and she'd have to face them all as such tomorrow. _But_ , tonight she was a new bride, and tradition _was_ tradition. The Northern Lords and the Dragon Queen had accepted her proposal - _what's fair was fair_. As sure as she was the blood of Winterfell, Sansa Stark was no stranger to sacrifice.

The sound of fabric rending, the kiss of frigid air upon her skin, Sansa flushed pink then red, watching as the delicate sleeve of her wedding gown floated into the boisterous crowd and disappeared underfoot. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and prayed to _both_ the Old Gods and the New, that they'd at least leave her shift intact and spare her _some_ modicum of dignity.

And then, it ended with the same sudden abruptness as it had begun, Sansa's eyelashes fluttering open as she felt herself being lowered to the ground, and found she was in her chambers -the Lord's chambers. They now belonged to her new husband as well, and he looked just as dismayed about taking them _this_ night as he had the day they'd first discussed them upon the ramparts after taking back Winterfell ... _together_. Only, tonight -they were his by _right_ , as was she.

Jon stood at the foot of their marriage bed, clad only in his breeches and boots -what was left of his tunic was strewn about in tattered pieces on the stone floor, the ladies that had whisked him here apparently long gone -perhaps at his bidding. He raised his grey eyes, a somberness swimming in their hazy depths that reached deep within and tugged painfully at her gentle heart.

"Job ain't done yet, lads!" Lord Glover reached for the laces of her shift, the other Lords egging him on.

"I would not advise it," Jon growled, his eyes taking on a more predatory glint while the corner of his lip turned up in a very wolf-like snarl -if he was partly blood of the Dragon, Sansa certainly didn't see it. "She is no longer _just_ the Lady of Winterfell, but _your_ Queen," his words echoed her earlier thoughts. "Show her some respect." It was _not_ a request.

Sansa laced her arms protectively over her chest and cast her eyes to the floor, as Lord Glover withdrew his hand and had the decency to lower his own eyes. "Apologies, Your Grace," he bowed his head as he and the other Lords made haste, pulling the chamber door closed behind them.

The room collapsed into a tense, heavy silence, with only the sound of the crackling fire licking at the logs as it roared behind them in the hearth, chasing away the cold night air. It was deafening.

Sansa worried her bottom lip between her teeth, watching as Jon removed his scabbard, his scarred torso bunching with his movements, as he propped Longclaw against the wall. He'd told her about the betrayal he'd suffered at the hands of his own men as he commanded the Nights Watch, how the Red Witch had coaxed him back from the dead -but she had never gazed upon the evidence of that deceit. As Jon's half-sister, such a thing would not have been considered proper -but now, as his cousin - _as his wife_ , she had every right to look.

 _And so she did ..._

They were both beautiful and horrifying -a testament to the man who carried them, and the inner turmoil she had found herself struggling with since Jon had entered her life again. Of their own accord, Sansa's eyes continued their upward trajectory to find him watching her intently as she studied him. Shamefully, she immediately lowered them back to the floor, her ears hot.

"We don't have to do this, you know?" Jon's voice was low, strained. "We don't have to do _anything_ that you don't want."

Did she _want_ to do this? She honestly wasn't sure. Sansa kept her eyes averted, and willed her vocal chords not to betray her. "We do. An heir is necessary." That was as truthful of an answer she was capable of right now.

Soon Jon and the Dragon Queen would take their amassed army and head farther north to meet the Dead in a war she wasn't sure he'd return from. If the Gods were kind, and Ramsay hadn't damaged her with his cruel games, perhaps Jon's seed would take hold in her womb. A babe - _hopefully_ a son, would strengthen the Stark line and appease the Northern Lords -most of whom were _still_ distrustful of Jon despite the fact that he _still_ intended to risk his life fighting for them. Just as he'd promised ... Only now, he was _truly_ a Stark.

"I did not want this for you Sansa," Jon's voice pulled her back from her thoughts, as he tugged his feet free from his boots. "We can just talk for a spell if you'd like ...or I could hold you -as a brother, if you prefer-" he offered, perhaps thinking that it was hard for her to see him as otherwise.

"Not _that_ ," Sansa whispered, instantly regretting her words when he flinched as if she'd wounded him. "I-I only meant that we were never as you and Arya are," she corrected. _Perhaps that had been a blessing in disguise_. "An heir is necessary, Jon. It is our duty to our people and the realm to try."

The Dragon Queen could not bear children ... it was possible that Sansa couldn't either, but now was not the time to think of such things. They would cross that path when they arrived upon it.

"Tell me ..." Sansa's cheeks flamed hot again. "Tell me what I must do ..." She was no longer a maid, _and yet_ , in many ways she still was ...

Again, Jon flinched as if she'd struck him. He took a step towards her, then another, and for all her brave words, Sansa drifted backwards until the backs of her thighs collided with the mattress, and she folded down upon it, her chest heaving, her heart thrumming wildly in her breast.

Jon knelt at her feet, carefully sliding off her dainty slippers, his hands tracing the slender curve of her ankle before sliding up under her shift to the ribbons that held her stockings in place. His calloused palms were rough, but his touch was exquisitely gentle, and as he dragged her hose down the length of her leg -first one, then the other, Sansa felt a peculiar warmth fluttering deep within her belly. It was the same odd flickering she'd felt when Jon had pressed his lips softly upon hers after exchanging their vows under the heart tree today.

His hands returned to her legs, now bare -skimming up their outer length with the brush of his fingertips -her calves, the backs of her knees, her thighs- stopping at her hips to pluck at the strings of her smallclothes. Sansa gasped, dragging herself backwards up the length of the bed, as he slid them down her legs. The mattress sagged with Jon's added weight as he stalked after her, crawling up the bed like a magnificent beast, his eyes glinting in the firelight. No, he was _no_ dragon, _Jon was all wolf_.

"Open your legs," he instructed her, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Sansa complied, squeezing her eyes closed tightly, she let her knees fall apart as Jon bunched her shift up high on her waist. _Breathe_ , she compelled herself, as her heart thrummed a steady crescendo that resonated in her ears with a deafening intensity. _Please let my scars not be visible in the low lighting_ , she dared to hope, unable to keep herself from pushing the fabric back down to conceal herself. It would not do well to disgust her new husband before they'd even begun.

Her labored breathing became painful, as Sansa felt the nudge of Jon's fingers at the entrance of her most private of parts. Instinctively, she clamped her thighs closed against his hand. " _P-please_ ...Jon. You don't have to do that ..."

Jon immediately withdrew his hand. "It will hurt you if I don't."

Ashamed at her show of weakness, Sansa exhaled, feeling the bite of tears pricking the backs of her eyes. "It will hurt anyway."

Jon released a sigh so heavy, it shook the bed. " _Gods_ Sansa, what did he do to you?" The despair in his voice cried out to the heavy pain she carried deep within her heart. Overflowing, it spilled forth, and Sansa was helpless to stop the tears. They slid down her cheeks in salty warm torrents, wetting her hair and staining the pillow beneath her head.

Jon's fingers were gentle, as he brushed them away, his thumb stroking her cheek, and the delicate curve of her of her jaw. "Sweet Sansa ... _My wife_ ... Tell me, do you still trust in me?"

"Y-yes." _Jon was Jon_ , and he would always protect her. This she knew to be true -even if so much around them were naught but lies. She would not have proposed this marriage otherwise.

"Then permit me to show you how a husband is truly meant to love his wife?" His voice was a quiet plea, but it was filled with such a sense of longing, Sansa thought she might weep again.

She nodded, as Jon pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering long past anything familial ...as they had that day upon the ramparts, the snow falling softly around them. Sansa remembered how he'd looked at her then -how it had stirred something within her, even as she didn't yet understand what it was. _He looked at her that way now_ ...his grey eyes searching hers, so that Sansa was sure Jon could see straight to her soul, and all her heart's deepest secrets.

Nervously, she wet her lips, afraid to hold his gaze, but more afraid to tear her eyes away. He stroked her cheek lovingly, his hand pushing past her ear to tangle in the hair that was still damp with her tears, and lowered his lips to hers.

Jon's kiss was gentle, like it had been under the heart tree -the slightest of pressure, as his thumb brushed the delicate skin of her throat. Slowly, tenderly, he increased the pressure, the tip of his tongue darting out to coax her mouth open. The strange fluttering warmth returned with startling force, sparking to life in her belly, as helplessly, Sansa relented and parted her lips for him.

Warm and firm, Jon's tongue was victorious in its gentle invasion of her mouth -swirling and stroking against her own in an odd erotic dance of tender exploration, encouraging her participation. Curiously, Sansa complied, eliciting a moan from the depths of Jon's chest. It rumbled up his throat and poured into her open mouth.

His hand stroked past her throat, his thumb gently brushing against her shoulder, as Jon reached to untangle Sansa's hands from the bunched fabric of her shift. She acquiesced, willing her racing pulse to steady, as he thread his fingers through hers, bringing her hand up and placing it against his naked chest. Below her palm, his heart beat as rapidly as hers - _strong_ , and full of life - _the blood of Winterfell_.

Sansa uncurled her fingers, lost in the wonderment of Jon's kiss, and the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. He was hot to the touch -heat seeping from his flesh, it pulsed into her, stoking the spark in her belly to a warm blaze. He trembled slightly as she traced the tattered edges of the scar that lay over his heart, and expelled a whimper against her lips that reverberated through her, and coiled itself around the core of her heart.

She felt his own hands at her waist -felt the pull of the fabric, as her shift inched higher up her thighs, and Jon lowered his hand between her legs once more. Sansa stiffened despite herself, but Jon was as patient as he was gentle. His touch was light as it brushed against the curls concealing her womanhood.

"Relax sweet girl," he murmured against her mouth, as he coaxed a finger between her soft folds, groaning as he came into contact with her moist heat. "You are ready for me, love."

Sansa wasn't sure what that meant, only that the strange sensations his fingers provoked sent the heat in her belly spilling out to all her limbs, coursing through her veins like warm honey. He pressed deeper, pushing against the bud of her femininity, and Sansa could not bite back the cry that sprung forth from her lips. It startled her -her eyes flying open to make sure she hadn't offended him in any way.

The corner of his lips twitched into a satisfied smile, as Jon withdrew his hand, and rocked his hips against her. She could feel the length of him, hard and hot -pressing urgently against the vee of her thighs, his breeches serving as nothing more than a flimsy barrier. A barrier that Sansa was surprised to find she wanted him to be rid of ...

She felt his hand come up between them, and Jon's nimble fingers working the laces of her shift free. Painfully, the moment shattered around her as Sansa panicked - _surely_ the scars littering her body would repulse him? Those were not as easy to hide as the ones on her inner thighs.

Wrenching her mouth from his, Sansa protested. "Please, no!"

Jon drew back, confusion wrinkling his brow, the smokey grey of his eyes still glazed over with passion. "What is it, Sansa?"

"I -I," Sansa struggled to explain herself. "Ramsay ..." she cringed at the mention of his name _here_ -with Jon, despoiling this once tender moment. "M-my body is not pleasant to look upon." _And I am afraid my disfigured skin will disgust you_. She kept that part to herself.

Jon wrested her hand from between them and pressed it to his own body, brushing her hand down the length of his chest, so that she felt all the jagged edges of his own scars. "I wish to look upon my wife's body while I make love to her for the first time. _All_ of her body ...but I will never force your hand."

Sansa nodded, feeling tears prick the backs of her eyelids again. Her heart beat so hard, she was sure it was about to burst forth from her chest from what she was about to do. Drawing from the last vestiges of her courage, she squeezed her eyes closed and plucked the laces of her shift free, before she lost her nerve.

"Look at me Sansa," Jon pleaded.

"I cannot," she shook her head.

"Look at me," his voice was gentle, but his tone commanding, as Sansa forced her eyes open. The furrow in his brow ceased, as Jon pushed the folds of her shift open, and his gaze swept over her naked torso. His eyes smoldering, he reached to caress her cheek. "There is not a single part of you that I find unpleasant to look upon. Don't you know how beautiful you are, Sansa?" He rocked his hips into her again. "Do you feel how I still burn for you? I have seen every part of you, and I desire you still."

He kissed her again then, his lips traveling from her mouth to her throat, less gentle and more urgent, as if he intended to brand himself into her skin. He cupped the gentle swell of her breasts with calloused palms, before dipping his head lower to suckle at her nipples like a hungry babe. The heat within Sansa raged with new fervor ... only this time pooling _lower_ , where her and Jon were pressed intimately against one another.

Jon drew back once more, reaching to pull the leather chord binding his hair free, letting his curls spill down to tumble just above his broad shoulders, as an image of children with those same glorious curls flashed before Sansa's eyes. _Please let the Gods be kind_ , she pleaded silently -for deep within her heart, she _still_ believed in the songs -of true love, gallant knights, and happy endings with Winterfell full of Starks in the image of loved ones lost.

Clumsily, Jon helped divest her of her shift, tossing it to the floor, then stood to quickly shirk his breeches. Sansa blushed wildly, feeling as if her whole body was aflame, as Jon crawled back up the bed, and eased himself between her legs. Now there were no barriers between them -they met each other as equals, both naked and vulnerable on a different sort of battlefield. And although she hated herself for it, _Sansa was afraid ..._

Jon seemed to sense it. With infinite patience, he kissed her once more as he braced himself up on strong arms, his hard cock nudging at the sensitive flesh between her thighs. Sansa could feel it pulsing against her -silk and steel. He eased the tip inside of her, his whole body shaking with the effort to keep himself in check.

Slowly -so exquisitely, achingly _slow_ , Jon pushed himself all the way inside of her, his eyes never leaving her face as he waited for her body to adjust to his intrusion. "Are you okay?" He whispered against her lips, his voice thick with emotion.

Sansa had no words, no thoughts, no breath left in her lungs -she gasped for air as torrents of pleasure washed over her, coursing through her body like liquid fire, and a sob tore from her trembling lips. It was all she had to offer him ...

And then Jon began to move within her. Slowly at first, his strokes even and measured, his body still shaking with tempered restraint. Hesitantly, Sansa wove her arms around him, placing her hands at the the small of his back, delighting in the feel of the play of muscles bunching beneath his skin as he made love to her - _with her._

" _Gods yes_ , touch me my sweet girl," Jon sobbed, shuddering at her touch like a man long starved for affection. It tore at Sansa's heart with an intensity that nearly moved her to tears. This man -this beautiful, brave and gentle man was just as broken as she ...perhaps they were meant to mend each other. They were wolves, and _wolves mated for life_ , after all.

Feeling empowered by his plea and the solace she could give him, Sansa brushed her fingertips up his back, across his broad shoulders, and finally, up into his hair. It was surprisingly soft, running smoothly between her fingers like the darkest spun silk. Jon moaned his approval into the rafters, as he hooked her thigh up over his hip and drove into her harder.

Sansa cried out, as the flames licked at her from within, and a strange tightening began tugging at her insides. She yearned to be closer, as she wrapped her arms around Jon's neck, and held him tightly against her. They were fused together, _and yet_ -it was not enough, for Sansa knew in that moment that she longed to be closer, _still_ -that she longed to be inside of Jon's heart ... _as he was now in hers_.

The realization startled her, as her eyelids fluttered shut and her Father's words sounded in her ears. _"Sweet one, listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong."_ Had he known all along that Jon was her Prince Aemon?

And then everything fell away, as that burgeoning tightness crested -and Sansa's stomach muscles clenched almost painfully. Her eyes flew open, fearfully, searching Jon's ...

"It's okay," he murmured his reassurance against her lips, as he captured them once more. "Come with me Sansa, _my_ wife, _my_ beautiful love, _my_ Sansa."

His sweet litany pushing her over the threshold, Sansa gasped, her toes curling against the bed, her hips jerking upwards of their own volition, as Jon's thrusts became frenzied. She could feel her inner muscles tightening around him -all of her senses suddenly heightened, as intense pleasure radiated from where they were joined, and then stars - _glorious stars_ burst behind her eyelids. They peaked _together_ , Sansa crying her release into his throat, as Jon moaned his own, spilling his seed deep within her.

Her chest still heaving as she floated slowly back down to earth, Sansa did not protest as Jon rolled to his side, dragging her with him to pillow her head on his chest. The sound of his heart thrummed in her ear, beating against her cheek as he tangled his fingers through her hair. The cool air kissed Sansa's naked skin, but the delicious heat radiating from Jon's body kept her plenty warm.

"How do you feel?" He asked her, his hand running down the length of her side, to rest at the curve of her hip, tugging her closer.

"Like a wife who has been _truly_ loved by her husband, I suppose?" Her gentle heart swelled with a glimmer of hope - _a dream of spring_ , and the possibility of a happy future with the man who held onto her with such tenderness. "Like a wife who is _eager_ to make an heir," she added for good measure.

Jon chuckled softly, the warm rich sound washing over her. "Insatiable, then? _Gods_ Sansa, perhaps you could spare me just a few minutes respite? I'm quite spent."

"As my husband wishes," She smiled, pressing a soft kiss against the jagged scar above his heart. _Let them be victorious, let Jon return to Winterfell -to me_ , Sansa offered her silent prayer up to the Gods.

Jon shivered, sucking in a sharp breath, his hand finding her chin and drawing her face to his for a slow, languid kiss. "Okay," he whispered against her lips, as he rolled Sansa back underneath him, a tangle of sweat-slick naked limbs. "I am ready, wife."


End file.
